Lips Of Fire & Eyes To Kill
by MixItUp
Summary: The zombie apocalypse has hit and Sharpay and Ryan might be the only ones who can stop it. Yeah, the world's pretty much screwed. Multiple pairings but no twincest. Multi-chap; in-progress. ON HIATUS.
1. ch1

Lips Of Fire & Eyes To Kill

ch_1: staying fabulous while shooting zombies is kinda hard sometimes

* * *

She brushes her blonde bangs out of her eyes. Though her long locks have been cropped short, she's still kept her signature style...only shorter. Without removing her eyes from the road, she asks, "How do I look, Ryan?"

Shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand, he turns to her. In the absence of his ever-present hat, he looks older somehow, at least in her peripheral vision. "Very post-apocalyptic chic," he says encouragingly. He tugs at his own leather jacket, clearly uncomfortable.

Since childhood, she'd had dreams of being the brightest of Broadway's superstars. It sucked, she reflected, that New York had been blown up. Although at least she was definitely the most stylish person left alive in the U.S. Sharpay had definitely never planned on being a zombie hunter, but as Ryan had pointed out, even the most conservative estimates of the death toll were around one-third of the population. If someone wasn't up against the monsters, there'd be no Tonys for her to win!

When she'd realized that, she'd packed up Daddy's old camping equipment, covered herself in leather, and hit the road. The outbreak had hit Los Angeles hard, and people on the news were talking about blowing up that city as well. So here they were. Sharpay takes a long breath. Even the stench of rotting flesh couldn't quite overpower that California smell of beaches, boys, and brand names.

She wasn't dumb—they had practically their own armory in the backseat. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and that included breaking and entering. It was all for the greater good, of course.

Ryan seemed to finally be getting into it, too. They'd stopped by a ravaged cosmetics store yesterday (Sharpay was out of mascara) and he had picked up guyliner. "Might as well have the full look," he'd explained, sounding resigned. She got that. From her cropped hair to her thigh-high leather boots, she was totally embracing this whole butt-kicking style. With his gelled up hair, lined eyes, and heavy leather, he was starting to look the part of her sidekick.

He'd always said that he'd follow her anywhere, but she hadn't quite believed that he'd actually come with her to kill zombies. But when she'd slipped into her car for the first time since the outbreak, he was already in the passenger seat. Sharpay had gaped at him. "Ryan, what are you doing there?"

"Oh, did you want me to drive?" he had offered wryly. In reply, she had just pulled his white fedora off his head.

It's kind of funny how it seems so long ago now. Maybe everything changes after you kill your first zombie, she reflects, and turns the stereo up. Ryan gives a slight smile and looks out the window.

The streets in this part of town are deserted. It's a good neighborhood—most of the people here probably had the sense and money to get out before it hit the fan. Sharpay scans the hedges and purses her lips. "Looks clear," she sighs.

"Which...is good," Ryan reminds her, raising an eyebrow. She nods. Good, but boring. They hadn't seen any action in a couple of days.

So they drive on, for hours, it seems. Ryan rolls his eyes (he thinks she can't see) at the metal and post-apocalyptic electro she insists on blasting, but she can feel his feet tapping, itching to get up and dance. Sharpay smothers her smile and looks back at the sunny sky, chewing thoughtfully on a granola bar. First of all, ick—it tastes disgusting, and second...what was that? Someone, the first sign of life they've seen in awhile, is walking down the street.

Scratch that. Make it running.

Without a warning, she floors it. Ryan scrambles to grab onto the seat. She turns up the music as he shouts some kind of question containing a word she knows Mommy didn't approve of. With her right hand, she smooths her hair. Eyes are locked onto her target.

Gawd. She totally knows this guy. Her stomach flip-flops like a dying fish, and a wave of vulnerability takes her back to sixth grade (when she first caught a glimpse of him). She swallows, unable to look away.

Suddenly, he turns the corner into an alley. "Crap," she mutters under her breath (she's not really comfortable yet with the R-rated language her life now requires). Sharpay slams the brakes and blows out air. He'll have to come back eventually.

She is aware of Ryan's dumbstruck stare, but the expected question does not come.

"It was him," Sharpay says quietly.

Maybe the whole twin-psychic-link thing is real, or maybe she's just easy to read. Either way, Ryan nods. "Troy Bolton," he muses, eyes unfocused.

She swallows again.

"Wonder what he's—" Ryan's eyes widen and he cuts his sentence off.

"What?" she asks, a little irritated. He's always doing this.

He tries to gesture. Idly, she notices that he's put on gloves. Hm. "Uh-uh...Shar, zombie at...3? 4 o'clock?"

She turns and groans. "Hand me a gun."

"Which one?"

"Any of them!" Sharpay snaps. Something is pressed into her hand. She closes her eyes, feeling by instinct, and shoots. The bullet flies.

She misses. The zombie is coming closer. The movies were wrong about one thing—zombies are wicked fast, if a little wary to approach people with guns. Still, it isn't enough to ward them off. She's gotta kill them.

Another zombie is in the shadows, but the first one is practically on them. She shoots again, whispering something like a prayer.

Yikes, guns are so _noisy. _

This shot connects, smashing through the zombie's shoulder. She—because at this range, it's now clear that's what she was—looks down in surprise, a single blue eye widening slightly. Something like a twinge of regret courses through Sharpay. Maybe the zombies are more human than they realized. Maybe she should be focusing on finding a cure instead. Maybe she's killing innocent humans.

The she-zombie raises a hand slowly.

With a grim smile, Sharpay pulls the trigger, making a clean shot into the zombie's chest. She stumbles, gummy blood squeezing out over her black vest. Serves her right for wearing one, Sharpay thinks. Didn't anybody tell her that vests went out two seasons ago?

"Say night-night," she says sweetly, and delivers a third shot into the zombie's now fully-exposed forehead. Handing the gun to Ryan, she dusts the imaginary dirt from her hands and makes a "hmm" of satisfaction.

He stares at her blankly.

"Um, hello? You wanna tell me something like, 'Nice job, Shar' or 'Wow, you're so much cooler than I'll ever be, sis!'" Her hands slip to her hips, fingers sliding over the smooth leather.

"How about look out?" Ryan says weakly, teeth clenching.

Before she can ask why, cold arms are wrapping her up and pulling her out of the car. All she can do is squeak and struggle.

The smell is terrible, like some disgusting blend of dollar-store coffee, wet cement, and _eau du morgue. _Sharpay, frantically tying to dredge up an appropriate move from what she remembers from _Buffy, _high-kicks a single boot-clad leg. This accomplishes nothing more than flashing her underwear to the empty street. She grits her teeth and stomps on the zombie's feet. Its only response is to pull her tighter. _Ew._

Vaguely, she hears Ryan shouting, "Stay still!" If she could turn to look at him, she would have given him her best death-glare.

"What are you, crazy?" she screeches, trying to work her elbow far enough out to use it as a weapon. "If I stay still it'll eat me!"

He heaves a sigh and, using every drop of air in his singers' lungs, yells, "SHARPAY, AS YOUR OLDER BROTHER, I ORDER YOU TO KEEP STILL FOR ONE FRIGGIN' SECOND!"

Sharpay freezes. He _never_ plays the older-brother card—in fact, most people didn't even know he was older (by six minutes, but still).

A shot rings in her ears, way too close for comfort. She 'eeps' and jumps slightly; in fact, she jumps right out of the gross zombie's grip. Now that he's down, she can see that he had been a middle-aged man, probably about Daddy's age before he was turned. By the smell and maggots, though, he's been gone awhile. The zombie groans and clutches the bullet hole in his leg.

She pulls out her pistol from the holster at her hip and holds it to his head, putting him out of his misery in a matter of seconds. "Thanks, Ry!"

He's still trembling when she climbs back into the car. Sharpay gently takes the gun out of his hand and slides it under her seat. She looks back up at him. "I mean it, Ryan. That was like...when that fat girl in _Hairspray_ dances for the second time and gets the job."

"Tracy," he mumbles, not sitting down.

"Yeah, her. It was that epic, Ry." Sharpay isn't that big a fan of _Hairspray—_how unfair was it that the girl who got dreamy Link wasn't even hot? Ryan, on the other hand, loves it.

Her brother looks at her, and he looks so different with his lined eyes and fierce expression that she nearly loses her breath. "You're right. It was. If our lives were a musical, that would definitely deserve a big number."

"With a whole dance crew," Sharpay agrees as he slips back down into his seat.

He nods fervently. "And fire coming up from the stage and...lots of glitter."

"Absolutely."

She looks down the alley. "Doesn't look like Troy's coming back this way. Still, he's probably okay, right?"

"Yeah, of course," Ryan says encouragingly.

Sharpay cranks the car back up, letting the sound of electric guitars roll over her. The music is actually starting to grow on her.

Ryan, though, presses a finger to his lips. "Do you hear that?" he whispers.

She rolls both her eyes and the volume down. "Hear what?"

And then she does. A girl's voice, crying. Mixed in with the sobs, she can make out the words, "Help me. Please, please help me...somebody..."

"We have to help her."

"Excuse me?" Sharpay asks. "This smells like a perfume counter worth of _trap_. No way."

Ryan stands up and swings one leg over the door. "Fine. But I'm going." He runs a hand through his gelled hair and pauses. "Gun?"

Sighing, she slips one to him and climbs out of the car herself. "Five minute limit, Ry, and if it's a trap I _will_ drive off."

"Whatever." He knows she doesn't mean it.

They follow the sound down the street and into another alley. "I don't see anything," Sharpay says, narrowing her eyes. "Let's go."

Ryan, however, creeps over to the trash cans. There, sandwiched between the overflowing bins, is a person (or zombie, Sharpay can't tell which). She is sniffling.

"Here, I'll help you up," Ryan says. Sharpay levels her gun, ready to shoot the whatever-it-is _when_ (not if) it turns out to be less than kosher. The girl/zombie stumbles up, clinging to Ryan's arm like he's the last pair of Jimmy Choos on sale. She's dirty, disgusting, and probably dead. Her curly dark hair is matted, and her face is scratched. Her sundress had probably been cute once upon a time, but now it looks...

...well, it looks like it came out of the dump.

"Thank you thank you thank you," the girl is murmuring, lips trembling. Sharpay doesn't put her gun down.

"Shh," Ryan says soothingly. "It's okay."

The zombie girl looks up and Sharpay nearly drops her weapon in shock. Ryan visibly swallows, and looks closer at the dirty creature.

"G-gabriella?" he whispers.

* * *

_End Notes: My zombies are different. What the heck possessed me to write this? I don't know. How long will it be? I also don't know that. When will it be updated?_

_...you can probably guess my answer to that._

_This story disregards all of SFA, picking up after HSM3. How long after? I dunno. It might become clear later. Not long, anyway._

_Also, yeah, Hairspray the musical movie is still a thing in this universe, despite the fact that...Zac Efron is in it. Hahah. _


	2. ch2

_previously on..._

The zombie girl looks up and Sharpay nearly drops her weapon in shock. Ryan visibly swallows, and looks closer at the dirty creature.

"G-gabriella?" he whispers.

* * *

Lips Of Fire & Eyes To Kill

ch_2: damsels in distress are so last year

* * *

Zombie Gabriella squints at Ryan. Sharpay's trigger finger hasn't stopped itching, and she's seriously fighting the urge to scratch. Something is holding her back, though...maybe that tender look in her twin's eyes.

"Ryan? Ryan Evans?" ZG asks, doe-eyes as wide as can be. Sure, they stay in their sockets, but that doesn't prove anything.

He nods, lined eyes locked on the girl like she's about to announce Best Actor. The zombie, mouth in that cute little "oh" that Sharpay simply despises, reaches a hand to Ryan's gelled hair. "You look so different."

She refuses to believe that he blushes. It's just a trick of the light reflecting off dried blood on ZG's hands. "Yeah, well, the end of the world changes people," he says.

Zombie Gabriella nods. "Yeah, it does."

"And it turned you into a zombie, so go on and do something evil so I can shoot you," Sharpay growls.

ZG's eyes open even wider somehow. "...Sharpay? Is that really you?"

She rolls her eyes. "Who else?"

"Wow. You look..." ZG looks Sharpay up and down. "Hot."

"I know," she returns, licking her glossy lips. "Now stand down. I need my brother alive and non-zombified."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Zombie Gabriella interrupts, holding up her filthy hands. "I'm not a zombie."

"Of course you'd say that."

Ryan shoots her a look; she pretends not to know what it means. He reaches out before she can stop him and he touches Apparently-Not-A-Zombie Gabriella's arm too gently. "She's warm. Not a zombie, Shar."

She lowers the gun slightly. "If you're not a zombie, what are you even doing here?"

"I could ask—never mind." Gabriella wraps her hair into a scrunchie. "I was here with Troy."

Ryan looks back sharply. "We saw him earlier," he says slowly. Sharpay lets the gun slip down to her side.

"He thought it'd be safer here. This was right at the beginning of the outbreak. We got separated and...well, he's probably infected by now." Gabriella's fingers idly move over a scab on her elbow.

"You don't know that," Sharpay says, nearly biting her lip halfway through. "You survived."

The other girl makes a face. "Barely, by hiding in a trash can. This place was the hardest hit. Zombies everywhere."

"Maybe we should go back," Ryan puts in. "The car...we shouldn't leave it unguarded for this long."

Sharpay looks at Gabriella for a minute, and not the NYC kind. "You can come with us," she says finally, "but you'll have to dress the part. And if I ever suspect that you're infected or working with the zombies, I'll shoot you. No questions asked."

She shrugs. "It's a better deal than the trash can offered me. Is there a possibility of a shower in my future?"

Sharpay's only response is to turn and stride back toward the car. She feels perfectly cinematic as she turns the corner—until she crashes directly into a tall, ugly, rotting figure. Looking up (oh god that's too close) into its face, she is treated to a glimpse of white teeth tucked behind the peeling lips. She pushes the monster away and gives it a quick once-over. "You never were a pretty boy, were you?" she asks. They always say witty things in the movies, but she's kind of short on material.

The zombie only frowns. Right.

In life, he was probably the kind of guy that everybody looked past. Split-second thought decides his name must be Frank. Who would ever date a guy with a name and face like that?

She fumbles for her gun, manicured fingernails slipping over the polished surface. She finds it a lot easier to swear now as the weapon slides down the sidewalk and out of her reach.

Frank snatches her hand. Sharpay closes her eyes, counting off. She's up against the wall now, the bricks poking at her bare back. Her fingers fall to the top of her boots.

Then, in a move that would have made Xena proud, she cracks off the stiletto heel and drives it right between Frank's eyes. He looks at her dully for a moment.

"Eat dust, zombie Frank," Sharpay hisses, eyes flashing. He crumples. At the pleasant tingling of attention, she turns to see Ryan and Gabriella standing at the exit of the little alley. Gabriella's eyes are as big as limo wheels.

Her lips tighten. "Way to arrive just in time to _not_ help, guys."

"Oh, no, we saw the whole thing," Ryan says, and she's tempted to plunge the stiletto into him next. "But you seemed to have it covered."

Gabriella contributes a few feeble claps. Sharpay limps to the car, tosses the stiletto aside, and nearly throws herself into the passenger seat. She doesn't miss Ryan's expression, but he takes the wheel without complaint.

"If you touch the guns, you're dead."

This doesn't make Gabriella look any more comfortable.

"Shar," Ryan scolds. She rolls her eyes and stares out the window.

He glares back, pale eyes reflecting back a little too much of herself. She sighs. "We passed an abandoned hotel about half a mile back. Might be posh enough."

The motor hum isn't quite loud enough to drown out the blood still pounding in her head, so she cranks up the radio. Ever-so-quietly, she hears Gabriella sing along, her weak little voice trailing gently over the notes. With a sharp twitch, Sharpay flicks the button to a song she knows little miss goody-goody won't know. She sees Ryan biting his tongue as she hums along.

The hotel is okay. At least, it feels good to scrub the blood off of her body. There's still a bit of water left in the building, she guesses, but she still insists on showering first.

Ryan had brought in the extra clothes and laid them on the bed. Sharpay smiles to herself. "I'll have to tell Ry thank you later," she says aloud.

"You're welcome," he replies from outside the door. "Hey, I'm going to take Gabriella across the street. There are some stores...all abandoned. She needs some new clothes."

"Why can't you go alone?"

She hears the surprise. "Well...I don't know what she wants."

"Just pick out something," Sharpay replies shortly. "She'll be a liability. Get in, get out, and don't get caught by any zombies."

He sighs as heavily as possible. "Okay, whatever. I'll go ask her about sizing."

It's about an hour later when Ry returns. The girls are in the parlor: Sharpay lounging on the sofa, Gabriella perching her little booty on a stool since she's too dirty to sit on the furniture.

"Here," he says, holding out a shopping bag to Gabriella. "If you don't like them, you can go pick something else out later, I just thought, you know, so you can change out of that." Ryan gestures awkwardly. Sharpay retches daintily.

"Thank you," Gabriella replies in that diet-soda voice. She grabs the bag immediately, and within a minute Sharpay can hear the water running.

She looks up. Ryan is staring her down coldly from across the room. "What?"

"Why are you acting like this?" he demands. He nervously reaches up to run his hand through his hair, still loose from his shower.

Sharpay avoids his eyes. "I don't trust her."

"No, you don't like her."

"Same dif."

He crosses the room and his arms in the same near-instant. Grudgingly, she meets his eyes. "Shar."

She throws up her hands. "I never thought I'd have to see Little Miss Stanford again, okay? It's not exactly a pleasant surprise. She'll only slow us down."

"That's not true. Gabriella's_ brilliant_. How could a super-genius slow us down?" Now he runs both hands through. She knows she's pushing him to the limit. It takes a lot to get Ryan pissed, but when it happens it sure isn't pleasant.

She can't bring herself to relent, though. "She has no idea what to do with a gun, her idea of fashion is a white sundress, she—"

"Shar," he says again, warningly.

"She'll only end up dead, she can't take care of herself! Maybe her geeky talents would be useful if we needed to, I don't know, win a math competition, but out here in the real world they're worth zip, Ry." Sharpay is vaguely aware of hands tightly clutching her black leather pants.

"_Shar_."

She pauses. He points to his ear.

Oh. The shower has stopped.

Something like guilt is lacing through her body but she won't let herself feel it. So what if Gabriella heard? Sharpay has always prided herself on being honest.

A door opens, and Gabriella strides into the room, looking—she hates to admit this—kind of wicked. Her scarlet scoop neck is tucked neatly into her practically-sheer black mini, but somehow the effect is more mature hunter than mom-at-a-party. Maybe it's the fishnets. Had Ryan really grabbed those for her? That naughty boy.

Her flashing eyes really complete the ensemble.

"She didn't mean it," Ryan begins. Gabriella, steaming, cuts him off with a motion.

"Like hell she didn't mean it."

Sharpay raises a perfectly arched brow.

Gabriella glares back. "Thanks for rescuing me," she spits out. "I've handled myself pretty well for a month and I haven't had...Daddy's guns or a fancy convertible. But, I mean, if the mighty Sharpay thinks I'm useless then who am I to protest?"

"Oh, you think you're better than me, don't you?" Sharpay says, nearly growling. "Finally you admit it. You've _always_ thought you were better than me, like you wouldn't act like me if you had the—the audacity to pull it off!"

"Ooh, audacity," Gabriella deadpans. "Too bad you didn't learn that word in time for the SATs, maybe then you would have gotten into college!"

Ryan is blabbering some kind of peace-love-let's get along crud.

"If you were half the woman that I am, you wouldn't have lost Troy! He was probably just trying to get away from you. I mean, the zombies are kinda better, don't you think?"

"The only one Troy ever wanted to get away from was—"

Sharpay is about ready to punch Gabriella in the face, but unfortunately, the zombie crashing through the window gets there first. The form tackles her to the ground; she screams. Sharpay hesitates, blood boiling. Ryan yanks out a drawer and launches it at the zombie, who stumbles back, rolling over Gabriella in the process. Sharpay feels for her gun.

And then she freezes.


End file.
